


Simulacrum

by SinbinSmut



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Pining, Rough Sex, S&M, Sadism, Teacher-Student Relationship, basically no prep for said anal sex, it's all fake anyway, listen hunters' pain thresholds are ridiculous roll with me here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 13:43:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13482690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinbinSmut/pseuds/SinbinSmut
Summary: Aiai's grand prize is access to the fantasy suites, a set of rooms that can temporarily create and play out any fantasy the user wants. While Ging has no interest in following Aiai's quest lines, the fantasy suites have an appeal he can't resist cutting in line to get to.Once inside, it doesn't take long for him to discard any shame he has about really, really wanting his student to want him.





	Simulacrum

Deer T. stands at five foot three, exclusively wears baggy pants and sweatshirts, and is the most unabashedly sexual person Ging has ever met. Before they worked together, she made her living writing erotica and selling kink gear—not the most glamorous position for a Hunter to hold, but when asked about it she just gave a sardonically sunny smile and said that passion was passion. It made her happy to do it, so she would never regret it, for all that she prefers her current position maintaining the city of Aiai.

“Are you sure about this, Ging?” she says, tapping her teaspoon against her empty porcelain cup with anxious clinks. “I trust your judgement and all, but the fantasy suites are pretty… potent. If you’re looking to let off steam, there’s a bunch of places I can point you to that would do the job just as well.”

Ging snorts. “Uh-huh. Sure sounds like you trust me.”

Deer huffs and him and points the spoon at his nose. “You know what I mean. I don’t even know if the fantasy suites are something we should keep around. I’ve half a mind to set a bunch more restrictions on them, and I’d have gone through with it if more people managed to use ‘em!”

“How many people have made it through every NPC in Aiai, by the way?” Ging asks, propping his chin up in his hand and glancing down to the street. Hunters and Nen constructs bustle about, holding hands and bumping into one another around corners. Some couples are tucked away in the shadows of buildings, pawing at each other where no one else at street level can see them. No one at all who isn’t sitting in Deer’s unique vantage point room, in fact.

Deer sighs heavily. “Not a lot. I guess it makes sense, since Aiai’s romance paths aren’t an integral part of the game. Most of them are focusing on collecting all the cards, they could care less about tracking down every NPC and putting in the time to complete their quest if there’s no reward but sex for it. I mean, sex is a pretty good reward in my opinion, but Hunters are so work, work, work all the time. I put time into this stuff! The least they could do is appreciate it.”

“You could have brought this up when we were still building everything, you know.”

“I know! But sex isn’t something you really want to make mandatory, is it? Aiai’s the place to go if you want to relax, and that’s how I like it.” She sticks the spoon in her mouth, freeing up her hand to snatch up more cookies off their little plate. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Aiai’s quest lines are designed to remind players that fantasies serve their purpose, but what’s ultimately more important is to make real connections with other people! That’s what they have to understand before I can trust them with the fantasy suite. But you haven’t done any of that, you bastard. Played every other part of the game, don’t think I didn’t notice, but Aiai gets a pass, huh?”

Ging takes two cookies for himself before Deer can manage to snatch all of them. “It’s not my fault your narratives suck and are boring.”

A spray of crumbs skitters across the table at Deer’s full-mouthed scoff. Thankfully, she swallows before speaking. “Asshole. Look, Ging, all I’m saying is that you should have a really good distinction between inside the suite and out in the real world before you do anything in there. It can feel like having something dangled in front of your face. Not all fantasies are supposed to be played out.”

“Do you give this speech to everyone?”

With a scowl, Deer throws her spoon at him and flips him off. “It’s like talking to a brick wall, I swear. Fine. Whatever. You can use the damn fantasy suite, but don’t come crying to me if you end up regretting it.”

Ging catches the spoon in midair and grins wide, flipping her off in return. “I knew you’d come around! Come on, Deer, you can’t be all that worried about _me_. Wanting things is my whole shtick.”

“ _Getting_ what you want is your shtick,” she corrects, and for the first time her glare softens to uncertainty. “I trust you, Ging, but just promise me that what you see in there won’t affect how you live your life. It’s not worth it.”

He huffs without real rancor and extends his hand, pinky outstretched. “I promise, Deer. It’s just a one-time thing.”

“I guess your curiosity was going to get the better of you eventually,” she sighs, hooking her pinky around his. “Alright, I’ll do the rules spiel.”

 

 

 

Deer’s restriction-required explanation of how the fantasy suites work boils down to one central idea: nothing happens inside that the user doesn’t _want_ to happen. The layout, the furniture, the bodies inside and how they act—everything is shaped by the person walking in the door, albeit unconsciously. They’re conjured for a time, dance to whatever pattern the user likes best, and fade away again. An intrinsic safeword, alongside the literal one Deer decides upon for each person going in.

The first sight he sees in the spacious suite is an entryway lined with erotic photography. Simple, almost formal nudes of people who gaze sensually at the camera, their bodies arched and inviting.

“Subtle,” Ging mutters, heaving a sigh and striding past it all. The entryway opens up into a living room populated by two couches and a plush chaise, all designed to maximize comfort in sex positions, as well as a wide-screen television that doubtlessly has an ample supply of videos. Just past it all is a cozy kitchenette; Ging wryly notes that despite how every other part of the suite is built, the cooking area is clearly meant for making food. There are probably some cookbooks involving semen tucked away in a cupboard, though.

The bedroom lies through a wide set of double doors, and Ging allows Deer a genuine laugh. The king-size bed is drowning in rose petals the bedspread only barely visible beneath them. “Fucker,” he says to the air, grinning and sweeping his arm across the top to send petals flying onto the ground. The little cloud they make might have been romantic, to someone sappier.

“They look lovely,” a soft voice comments from behind him. “Though certainly impractical, on top of the bed.”

Ging turns, but of course he knows who Deer’s simulacrum has mimicked before he even lays eyes on it. He’s thought about it more than he should have in the time leading up to this moment, guiltily ranking his favorite fantasies, and in any case he’d know that voice from the faintest whisper of it.

The construct wearing Kaito’s face is still watching the petals drift to a rest on the carpeted floor, but he glances up to meet Ging’s eyes and smile. Even having anticipated this moment, Ging’s brain trips and stumbles over itself so that the only thing he can think to say is “Really? I _just_ walked into the room. Give me a minute to get my bearings.”

“You’re an impatient man,” the construct says. The way its smile softens the tired lines of Kaito’s face is uncannily perfect, and all the more prominent without the shadow off the brim of his hat to block it. Ging might have been tricked, if he hadn’t been aware of how Deer’s _Nen_ worked. As it stands, he has only himself to blame for having memorized Kaito’s face so well.

“True,” he says, looking back at the free space on the bed. “But—okay, listen. Can you look like someone else?”

The construct’s eyebrows draw down into a furrow. Ging swallows as it assumes Kaito’s frustrated pout.

“It’s possible, but if you wanted me to look like someone else then I would have taken that shape from the beginning.”

“Yes, yes, I know how this all works, but…” Ging rubs a hand across his stubble and sighs. “It’s just weird to do it like this.”

Kaito’s hand presses against his, palm cupping the back of Ging’s hand and delicate fingers intertwining with his own. Just barely, a finger brushes across Ging’s lips. He swallows hard and tries not to fixate on the rough texture of Kaito’s callouses. “You think too much, master,” Kaito says. “Is it so hard to believe I want to make you happy?”

“Not like this, he doesn’t,” Ging snaps, jerking his hand free and striding back into the main room. He doesn’t get far before Kaito’s arms curl around his waist.

“Only because you haven’t asked,” Kaito’s low voice purrs against his ear.

Ging stands stock-still. His body burns everywhere that Kaito’ skin so much as brushes, and he wills his heart to stop racing so obviously. As if the simulacrum doesn’t already know exactly how much he wants to fall into the fantasy’s pace. Kaito’s hands trace up his front, dancing along the lines of muscle beneath his shirt, and toy with the top button. “Master,” he breathes, hot against Ging’s ear, and Ging has to swallow a groan at the bolt of lust that goes through him. “I _want_ you.”

He knocks Kaito’s hands aside, ignores the disappointed sound from behind him, and flops down onto the chaise with a heavy sigh. Tossing his arm over his eyes, Ging wills his brain to stop twisting in circles around itself. He shouldn’t have come; he knew exactly what would happen if he did. It’s been so rare that he wants something he can’t have that the raw desire must have clouded his judgement. He should leave now, travel to Masadora where the real Kaito is waiting, and forget his slip in self-control.

The chaise shifts as a body drapes itself over his, hovering just above him so that with the smallest effort to reach out they could be touching. Ging can feel soft breaths against his lips, feather-light enough to tease his interest.

“Don’t feel guilty,” Kaito murmurs. Long, slender fingers slide around Ging‘s wrist and lift the arm from his face, light blinding him for a moment. When they’ve finally adjusted, the bulb above’s glow gives Kaito’s hair an ethereal shine. Kaito himself gazes down at Ging, soft and sympathetic.

“Easy for you to say. You’ll just stop existing after I leave. Must be nice to never face consequences.”

Kaito cocks his head to the side. “Consequences? For what? No one will ever know what happens here.”

“ _I’ll_ know,” Ging snaps.

“It’s not like you to regret.”

“I’d regret this.”

“Would you?” Little by little, Kaito leans forward. A traitorous part of Ging’s brain whispers that what’s burning in his eyes has been there before, in glances that Ging only just caught before Kaito looked away again. Tiny moments, easily ignored, not so easily forgotten. “You know I’m happy just to be with you, Ging. You could do anything you wanted to me, and I’d thank you.  You like that, don’t you? Having me so _willing_ …“

His long hair tickles Ging’s shoulders, but Ging doesn’t bother to brush it aside. It’s been a long time since he was so transfixed by desire.

“You’re a bad man, master,” Kaito purrs, and kisses him at last.

His lips are soft, pressing chastely against Ging’s, and for a fantasy so forward his kiss is almost shy. It’s unexpected, but as seconds pass with little movement from either of them, the vibrating tension that’s been worrying at Ging’s conscience eases and he relaxes into the kiss. He’s not the type to deny himself something he wants, in the end. That’s why he came to this suite in the first place, and why he’s spent so much time thinking of precisely this moment. Of how Kaito’s mouth presses against his, eager but uncertain; of how Kaito’s body relaxes down as Ging’s hands come up and how he sounds sighing with pleasure when Ging’s hands cup his jaw. The delicate flutter of his long eyelashes and the curtain of his hair around them. He keeps his eyes closed even as Ging pushes him back a few inches to break the kiss, and Ging can hardly breathe himself as Kaito obviously savors the feeling.

Ging’s heart is hammering in his chest, now, and he knows as well as he knows anything that he’ll never forget Kaito licking his lips, opening his hazy eyes, and blushing nervously at Ging’s attention. In the back of Ging’s mind he halfheartedly flips off Deer one more time before letting himself fall into the role the room expects of him.

“Kaito,” he says, sliding his thumb over the spot Kaito had licked moments before, and the shiver that runs down his student’s spine doesn’t escape him. “Are you certain you want this?” Kaito blinks, shyness eclipsed by surprise for a moment. He parts his lips, but falters when Ging presses his thumb down harder. “Think about it before you answer.”

He can feel the shape of every word as Kaito smiles softly and says “I have thought about it. For a long time. I’m certain, master.” His clever fingers have already popped open the top buttons of Ging’s shirt, and he leans into Ging’s hand until he lets Kaito dip down to kiss his neck. “I want to make you feel good,” he murmurs.

He’s pressed up against Ging so hard in so many places that it’s like he’s trying to meld their bodies together. Ging’s hands wander along his back, mapping out the subtle bumps of his spine and the sharp curves of his waist. His lithe legs are squeezing Ging’s hips, his chest flush against Ging’s, and Ging has to actively suppress a groan at how, despite Kaito’s height, he is in so many ways smaller than Ging. He fits snugly in Ging’s lap, for all that his legs are bent under him, and when their bodies are so closely aligned it’s absurdly clear that Kaito simply doesn’t have the muscle mass Ging has. It would be cute, if Ging were the type to call things cute.

Kaito huffs a small, displeased noise in Ging’s ear and bites his earlobe, forcing his train of thought back to the student who might or might not be _cute_ but most certainly is _wanton_. “Don’t get distracted,” Kaito says softly, tongue tracing the shell of Ging’s ear with a wet sound that’s nothing short of lewd. He sucks the earlobe he’d bitten into his mouth and Ging bites back a groan at the sudden heat.

“Like I could,” he mutters back. With a small shift of his head he catches Kaito’s mouth again, slotting their lips together while he digs his fingers into Kaito’s ass. Kaito’s mouth opens with a little squeak of surprise that turns into a full-throated moan at the feeling of Ging’s tongue slipping past his lips.

Again, Ging finds that for all Kaito’s flirtation he holds back in his kisses; there’s clear desire in how he opens up when Ging prompts him and how he tentatively slides his tongue along Ging’s, but it’s unrefined desire. He squirms when Ging sucks on his bottom lip, jumps when Ging nips him. His hands are restlessly moving along Ging’s torso, venturing below his shirt to draw circles in his chest hair then just as quickly darting back to stroke his stomach muscles.

It takes Kaito dipping down and pressing toothless kisses to Ging’s neck, then leaning back just slightly to look at the wet spot and trying again, for it to strike Ging that he isn’t just _unrefined_.

He reaches up to tangle his fingers in Kaito’s long hair at the base of his head and tug, Kaito following the motion with little resistance. He blinks down at Ging, the pink flush on his cheeks brilliant against the pale frame of his skin and hair.

“Are you trying to give me a hickey?” Ging asks, and grins when Kaito’s flush deepens and he glances away.

“Yes,” he mutters. “Did it feel bad?”

“Not bad, exactly, but… it doesn’t work like that.”

Ging sits up, scoots back a little on the chaise so he can prop himself up and pull Kaito properly into his lap. Kaito shifts in place, abruptly unable to look Ging in the eyes.

“You’ve never gotten a hickey.”

It’s not a question, but Kaito shakes his head in answer all the same. Ging grips his hair again and makes him meet Ging’s gaze, and Kaito trembles with—from what Ging can read in his face—a kind of pleased embarrassment.

“Have you even kissed anyone?”

“No,” Kaito admits, almost under his breath. “Not before this, no, I haven’t.”

Ging breathes out slowly, dragging his fingers through the impressive length of Kaito’s hair. His heart beats in his ears, and it takes an effort of will to calm it down.

“A little immersion-breaking,” he can’t help but say, raising an eyebrow. “I’m supposed to believe that when he looks like _this_?”

He squeezes Kaito’s thigh and slides his hand around to do the same to his ass, the simulacrum arching into his touch. He might be fooling himself, but he catches a flicker of annoyance on its face at his commentary on its performance.

“People… offered,” Kaito says, a whimper edging into his tone. “Especially when you were busy, or away, or if we were celebrating with drinks. It felt nice, being wanted like that, and I was, um, tempted. But in the end, I…”

He leans in, and Ging lets his silken hair spill out from between Ging’s fingers. It falls delicately down Kaito’s back onto Ging’s legs, bright white against the dark cloth, but Ging is transfixed by Kaito’s grey, earnest eyes.

“I only ever wanted you,” Kaito says, and Ging feels the words on his own lips as Kaito kisses him again.

This time he presses forward with purpose, and Ging smiles as he recognizes the moves he himself had been putting on a moment ago. Always the quick learner. He lets Kaito fumble a little before he nudges him away, nosing down to the sharp curve of his jawline. He’d go lower, but Kaito’s damned turtleneck gets in the way.

“Like this,” he breathes, and nips Kaito hard. Kaito jumps, and the surprised gasp he gives makes warmth blossom in Ging’s stomach. He leans into Ging despite the pain—and from the hardness Ging feels at his hip, he’s not at all opposed to the harsh suction Ging’s using to bruise the delicate skin of his neck.

“Oh,” he says, his fingers tangling in Ging’s hair. “I-I see…”

Ging hums and worries Kaito’s skin, and before long there’s a dark red mark just below the curve of Kaito’s jaw. The contrasting colors look good on him, Ging decides. He knew they would.

Kaito’s face is buried in his shoulder now, Ging’s hand resting heavy on the back of his neck, and the red tip of his ear is enough to tell Ging what his face looks like. Once Ging’s work is done he presses open-mouthed kisses to Ging’s pulse, teeth scraping much more than they had before, but his focus is clearly elsewhere—down, keeping the gentle grind of his hips steady. There’s a hitch in his breath that Ging can feel mirrored in his own throat, and Kaito’s playful nips aren’t helping on that front. Warmth curls in his stomach, tempting him to stay put on the chaise, but now that he’s given in, damn if he’s not going to _give in._

Before he can say anything, Kaito’s index finger presses to his lips. He leans back a little, just enough for Ging to see the shy expression on his face. “There’s something else you can show me,” he says softly, staring at Ging’s shoulder rather than looking him in the eye. “Isn’t there?”

Ging hums and gives his finger a little lick, making Kaito draw it back and glower at him. “Maybe. Do you have something in mind?”

Kaito fidgets and tugs at the collar of his turtleneck, biting his bottom lip. “… You know what I’m talking about…”

“Do I?” Ging meets Kaito’s increasingly frustrated pout with a shit-eating grin. With a toss of his hair, Kaito huffs and visibly pushes aside his embarrassment.

Ging rarely feels shame, and even what little he did in the past regarding his fantasies hasn’t stopped him from imagining this scene in meticulous detail. Kaito’s mussed hair draping weightlessly down his back and the shine of light on his wet, kiss-bruised lips; the blush complementing the haze of lust over his eyes; the trembling tension in his thighs as he tries not to grind against Ging’s body. His low voice sends a shiver of pleasure down Ging’s spine, encouraging his half-hard cock to stiffen and strain at his pants.

“Your cock, master,” Kaito murmurs, his fingers tracing around the twitching outline of it. “I want you to fuck me.”

His seductive tone breaks off into a squeak as Ging hoists him up and stands in one smooth motion. Kaito, reflexes sharp as ever, loops his arms around Ging’s neck and wraps his legs tightly around Ging’s waist to help hold his own weight—not that Ging particularly needs help.

“You should know,” Ging says, striding to the bedroom, “I’m only _barely_ restraining myself from shoving you up against a wall. The bed’s much too far away.”

Kaito laughs, and the sound brings a smile to Ging’s face.

The rose petals don’t look so silly when Kaito’s splayed out over them, already pulling his shirt up and over his head. It’s a somewhat arduous process that Ging always snickers at, since Kaito has to take off the shirt, drag all of his hair through the skinny neck, and then get it all back into place. The disgruntled sound Kaito makes is achingly familiar, and when he surfaces Ging darts forward to capture his mouth and push him onto his back.

Where before their kisses were exploratory and teasing, now they’re fast and deep. Ging maps out Kaito’s body with the tips of his fingers, noting all the spots that make his breath come faster and his muscles tense. He knows Kaito’s body intimately well already, simply as a consequence of training him, but he’s never been so enamored of it. He could spend hours like this, just ensuring that there’s nowhere on Kaito’s body he hasn’t touched and teased and kissed, but at the moment neither of them are patient enough.

They’re barely patient at all; Kaito’s teeth dig into his bottom lip and he fumbles with his fly, loosening his pants enough that Kaito can shove them and his underwear off his hips. Kaito’s hands pause to grope at the exposed skin while Ging drags his shirt up over his head, haphazardly tossing it aside to crumple among the fallen petals. He has to lean away to get his clothes all the way off his legs, and when he’s managed it he turns back to find Kaito frozen, eyes trained on the hard curve of Ging’s dick.

He pulls himself together quickly, but the way he glances away and presses his thighs together is so endearing that Ging can’t help but want to tease him. “See something you like?” he says, hovering over Kaito’s legs.

“You’re better than bad one-liners,” Kaito scoffs lightly, only squirming a little when Ging’s fingers slip under the elastic waistband of his pants. His hips lift up to let the cloth down and Ging obliges, but slowly. Embarrassment colors Kaito’s cheeks as Ging takes his time uncovering his long, slender legs, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin of Kaito’s thigh as he goes.

“High praise,” Ging mutters, more focused on appreciating the lithe shape of Kaito’s calf than speaking. A flick of the wrist is enough to discard his pants, and then he can crawl back to plant his hands on either side of Kaito’s head and drink him in. Just for a moment; it only takes a moment for Kaito’s gaze to fall back down to Ging’s cock. His tongue flickers out to wet his lips, and oh, but that gives Ging ideas. Too many to act on, and he settles for kissing Kaito quickly enough to catch that tongue.

“Master,” he gasps, when Ging isn’t in the way, “wait—”

Reluctantly, Ging breaks away enough that Kaito can speak. He presses his fingers to his lips for a moment, his expression sobering. “I… I’m not sure what to do, master.”

Everything in his demeanor speaks to an intense awkwardness, and Ging can’t blame him; he’ll be the first to admit he fails spectacularly at teaching emotional intimacy. But the abrupt interjection of this reluctance goes so directly against what he’d expected of the fantasy suite that he discards his hesitation and asks “You mean, sort of, technically?”

“No! Well, yes, but not that.” Kaito’s brow gets that furrow it gets when he’s thinking hard. “This is all so fast.”

“… You were the one throwing yourself at me.”

“I wasn’t _throwing_ myself,” Kaito mumbles. “I just know we should… go slower, but I don’t want to wait anymore.”

The fantasy clicks back into place in Ging’s mind when Kaito slips the tips of his fingers under the band of his underwear, nudging it down far enough to show a trail of pale hair.

“I don’t care if it hurts,” Kaito says, meeting his eyes plaintively. “Ging, I…”

The trepidation that strikes him at the unspoken words hovering in the air is far outweighed by the possessive joy of hearing his own name on Kaito’s lips, and as Kaito draws his thighs up to slide his last remaining clothing off, Ging basks in the satisfaction of having what he wants so badly offered up so easily.

“I _need_ you,” Kaito finishes, naked and vulnerable in all ways, eyes soft, and Ging knows he’ll never regret the decisions that led him here.

He’ll accept jumping over a few steps in the preparation part of things, but he insists on taking the time to scramble over to the bedside dresser and retrieve the generous bottle of lube there. It’s cold against the flushed skin of his cock, but he barely registers the discomfort, too intent on using his free hand to push Kaito’s legs back and expose him. There’s an unsubtle tremble in his legs, and when the very tip of Ging’s cock presses against the soft skin of his entrance Kaito jumps enough to break the contact.

“Are you scared?” Ging asks, stroking his thigh like he’s an overwrought horse, voice dropping to a softer tone.

Kaito shakes his head. “Nervous,” he admits, breathlessly, “but not scared.”

He reaches down between his legs, fingers curling around the glans of Ging’s dick and guiding him forward to once again nudge the tense rim. The grounding touch helps, and he spreads the lube on his fingers around where their bodies meet.

“I want it like this,” he says, and slips one finger inside himself to tug it upwards, opening the clench of his own body up for Ging to gain purchase and slide inside, little by little, Kaito’s breath hitching as he does. Ging has to _push_ it’s so tight, and rock his hips forward a fraction of an inch at a time until the flare of his cockhead can finally make it past the stubborn ring of muscle.

He’s past the point of being ashamed at the rush of heat that comes with Kaito shuddering, his body rippling around Ging, his erection softening and his eyelashes matted, and his legs still clamped around Ging’s hips like he’ll die if Ging pulls away.

A whine tears from Kaito’s lips as Ging does pull away, just enough that he can make himself wet with lube again and push back in. It’s smoother the second time as Kaito relaxes despite the pain, his fingernails digging into Ging’s shoulder.

“Deeper,” he says, and digs his heels into Ging’s back impatiently at the questioning glance he receives. “ _Deeper_.”

So Ging fucks him deeper, the vicelike hold and molten heat of Kaito’s walls almost too much for him to stand. They cling to him, as desperate for him to stay inside as Kaito himself is, and ripple like they’re trying to milk the cum out of him. He wouldn’t put it past Kaito to be doing just that, were it not for how totally out of it he looks. His mouth’s fallen open and his eyes are fixed to where Ging’s hips meet his, hazy with pain and pleasure. Astoundingly, his cock’s starting to perk up again—the long curve of it pressed to his own stomach and smearing pre-cum there.

“Kaito,” Ging says, giving his jaw a messy kiss, “say you want it again.”

“I want it,” Kaito says obediently, the words ragged with strain but earnest. He meets Ging’s eyes and strokes a hand across his face, wiping the steadily beading sweat from Ging’s brow in a gesture out-of-place with its tenderness. “I want it so much, master, please…”

He pulls Ging further into himself, voice hitching with a sob as he pleads, “ _Break_ me.”

And then the air is driven from his body, Ging abandoning the careful pace with reckless abandon. The almost-pain of friction aggravates his every nerve, and he can only imagine what it’s doing to Kaito. Given that he can see the exact moment adrenaline and endorphins kick in wash over Kaito’s face, quite a lot. The hand Kaito flings to the side, balling up in the bedcovers, sends rose petals flying.

And if Ging wasn’t so intimately acquainted with the subtle way every emotion plays across Kaito’s face, he’d think it all too much; but he is, and he knows exactly how much pain Kaito can take: more than this, but not by much. He can take a biting kiss, and the hard dig of Ging’s fingers into his hips, and the slap of their hips meeting, but every tense line in his body sings that it’s on the knife’s edge of overwhelming.

And still he mewls into Ging’s mouth “More, master, I can—I can take it, I need it, fuck me—”

He shudders around Ging’s cock when it irregularly hits his prostate, his own twitching every time, and Ging spares a hand to stroke him until he comes apart, hugging Ging as close as he can and wordlessly moaning into his ear. His grip is unbreakable through the aftershocks, steadily loosening enough that Ging can lean back and see his face.

“Oh,” Ging says, suddenly hyperaware of why the suite’s fantasy played out this particular way. The pleasure of feeling Kaito’s body around him pales in comparison to the sight of Kaito like this—unable to breathe without moaning, every muscle in his body trembling with exhaustion, and all his composure abandoned. He can count on one hand the number of times Kaito has cried in front of him, but he’s crying now—fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he squirms, his hips twitching as cum drips from his oversensitive cock.

He can’t take his eyes from Kaito’s face as he moves—sharp, shallow thrusts that are all he needs to rush to his own climax. He probably could have reached it just by watching Kaito in this state, his body mindlessly moving with Ging’s, but he savors the involuntary spasms that wrack Kaito’s thighs when Ging hits his prostate again.

“Ging-!” Kaito gasps, and Ging digs his teeth into Kaito’s neck as he cums.

It looks damn good, the twin crescent bruise’s crimson standing out starkly alongside the purpling hickey.

He might actually be sad to see them go, in the morning.


End file.
